


The Dragon and the Crow

by NikkiDeez



Series: The Dragon and the Crow Saga [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Lore, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Misunderstandings, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Qunari Culture and Customs, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiDeez/pseuds/NikkiDeez
Summary: Herah Adaar; Qunari Rogue turned Herald of Andraste, and leader of the Inquisition. Or so she'd be told. Nothing could have prepared Herah for this newfound 'destiny.' She didn't ask for it. Nor does she want it. Nothing could have prepared her for the problems... the battles... or meeting the Qunari spy that would eventually capture her heart.Basically a series of one-shots that follows the plot of the game. To end with Trespasser. Will be focusing mainly on how a rogue with A LOT of issues eventually finds the way to somehow become a hero. And yes, as the title implies, Herah eventually does become a Crow.Warning: Lots of Violence, Romance Scenes, Eventual Sex Scenes, and Graphic Language. Read at your own discretion.If you want to see what my Herah looks like go here:http://imgur.com/a/q3beCPLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!!





	1. The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah Adaar, so called Herald of Andraste, just wants to be left alone. Instead she is expected to meet someone called the Iron Bull. Sparks fly... but mainly the murdering kind...
> 
> Herah meets the Iron Bull at the Storm Coast.

The nights always ended with  **[Herah Adaar](https://i.imgur.com/t5NigEo.png) ** waking with a loud gasp. Ever since the explosion at the conclave, dreams had plagued her sleep, causing her to always wake up in a cold sweat. Dreams? _Pffft_. Try nightmares.

Herah sat up, still breathing hard, heart pounding, reaching up with trembling fingers to brush away the cold sweat that dotted her forehead, the Qunari rogue needing a moment to remember where she was, Herah’s yellow amber eyes quickly scanning the room. Gone were the chittering spiders. Gone was the voice that whispered deadly promises to her. Gone was the smoke and stink of carrion. She was back in the room Cassandra had given to her. It used to be Devine Justinia room, and it showed. Everything was human sized and fit for a Devine, the room filled with fine if sparse furnishings, and even though the bed had looked comfortable, Herah had ended up having to sleep on the floor, moving the blankets and cushions to the rug that faced the fireplace, having always had trouble sleeping in human sized beds. Being nearly seven feet tall can do that.

Herah glanced around the dark room, her eyes finding the window, seeing that the sky was just starting to light up the horizon. The sun was rising. It was early morning in Haven. Herah closed her eyes in annoyance, still feeling tired. So. Yet another restless night. Sleeping through an entire night had become a rare luxury, and it was starting to wear on her. Herah had considered speaking to Solas about it, but then quickly dismissed the idea. If she told him about the dreams, then it would lead to another talk about the Fade… something she had already done with the elf… _in depth_. Herah grimaced. Another talk about the infernal Fade? _No thank you._

Sighing, Herah grimaced, her eyes going to her left hand, and the mark that now rested in her left palm, Herah watching as it started to glow, bathing her room in an eerie green light, the light a constant reminder of who and what she was now. They had returned from Val Royeaux the day before, leaving things clear; like it or not, she was the mighty Herald of Andraste… and now the world knew it. A fact that still left Herah feeling lost and confused. _She_ was the Herald of Andraste?! **_Her?_** How by the breath of the Maker did that happen?! It didn’t help that she was a Vashoth Qunari. It was like everyone just loved to constantly remind her of the fact that most of Thedas considered her to be a soulless murdering monster. Most Orlesians thought of her as a dumb brute or a pet. Anyone from Kirkwall? Pretty much wanted to kill her. Elves and dwarves hated her because she was well, huge. And everyone else? Made it excruciatingly obvious that they feared her. The only time she felt comfortable at all was when she was with her own kind… and most of her kind hated her for being Vashoth. Herah grimaced. Of all the people Andraste could have chosen to be the Herald, _why **her?!**_

Sighing in resignation, Herah pushed aside the various fur blankets and got to her feet, her dusky dark grey skin aglow in the fire light, the Qunari mercenary walking over to the wash bin, splashing water over her face, the biting cold waking her up. She was a mercenary, and it showed. Scars covered nearly every inch of her. Arms, legs, chest. There wasn't an inch of her that hadn't been injured over the years. The most prominent scar she had was the one that ran down the left side of her face, from the top of her temple, down to her eye, and reaching down into her cheek. She had another on the other side, on her top of her lip, this one giving her a faint sneer. Giving her scared face a glance, Herah grunted in dismissal and instead focused on cleaning up. First she washed her teeth and face, taking the time to also rub a wash rag over her horns before slipping on the silver caps she wore as decoration and protection, Herah then taking the time to also braid her long, ash white hair back before pining it into a bun at the nape of her neck, her callused fingers moving in quick, practiced motions, her amber eyes shifting to the room itself, the Qunari glaring at the bed hatefully, the bed and so many other things a constant reminder that she was not in the Free Marches any more.

Haven was definitely **_NOT_** Qunari friendly. Everything around her was meant for a human, from the bed, to the tables, to the furniture, and even the outhouse and the silverware. She always was bumping into things; chandeliers in the dungeons, low hanging doorways throughout the cabins, or the low tables in the tavern. Everything had to be treated as if it were made of glass, her larger hands capable of bending forks and shattering goblets. She towered over everyone as well, having to always look down or sit so that she was eye level. Forget talking to Varric comfortably. Herah had to literally sit down on the floor or crouch, this causing both her and the dwarf to feel _very_ uncomfortable, neither wanting each other’s size to become an issue while also not wanting to the other to feel out of place or different, which was ridiculous because they were.

Still Varric was one of the few that understood Herah well enough to make her feel at ease, his carefree nature a balm to her already strained nerves, so Herah often made a point to spend her morning meal with him, this now something of a routine between the two rogues. Knowing that Varric would be waking soon, Herah gave her room a final glare before she slipped out of the door, hoping to find the dwarf without risking bumping into someone, Herah quietly making her way down the stairs that led her to the main hallway of the chantry, about to reach the door.

“Excuse me? Inquisitor? May I have a moment?” a light voice called behind her, the tone musical and light like a flute.

Herah fought a grimace. Egh. _Shit_. She’d know that voice in her sleep.

“Good morning, Leliana. Sleep well?” Herah asked, turning to face her spymaster, arms crossing over her chest, having always wondered if the redhead slept at all.

Lilianna gave Herah’s red lined eyes a knowing glance. “I could ask you the same thing.” she remarked, this getting an annoyed grunt from the Qunari. Then Lilianna’s face darkened with concern. “Nightmares again?” she asked softly. Herah only grunted again, the answer to that question rather obvious. Lilianna sighed. “You really should consult with Solas. He might be able to help you…”

Herah waved her hand in negation. “I have already spoken to him about it, as well as to Adan. Both wanted me to drink some potion that tasted like rat piss and apparently don’t work on Qunari… so… yea.” Herah shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to them. Was there something you needed?” she then asked.

Lilianna nodded. “Yes. I have a report. There is a mercenary group interested in aiding the Inquisition; the Chargers. Their leader, the Iron Bull, has sent his second in command to meet with you later today.”

Herah frowned, the name sounding familiar. “I had heard of them. They worked out of Orlais. They’re good but expensive.” Even more expensive than her own personal mercenary group, the Valo-Kas.

Lilianna nodded. “Yes, but still it is an excellent opportunity for us to expand upon our forces. Even with the Templars, we still need a group like theirs to aid our cause. Look for the Iron Bull’s second in command later? He said he would meet with you near the stables.” And with that said, Lilianna gave her a nod and left, the Vashoth watching the spymaster as she left, her face set in a strained grimace.

_The Iron Bull and the Chargers wanted to meet with her._

Herah grumbled, not sure on what to think of that. She had heard of the mercenary group, of course. As a mercenary herself, Herah and her company had made it a point to know about any rival groups. The Chargers had been their competition for a few jobs in the past, although the two groups had never formally interacted. However, Herah had heard the stories, and wasn’t sure she liked what she had heard. Iron Bull was a Qunari from Par Vollen. He was a follower of the Qun. And that fact alone _terrified_ her. The last time she had worked with a male Qunari commander of such repute had been Korrath, the Scarred One. Korrath had been the commander in charge of her mercenary company before the current one, Shokorar, took over. Even though Herah had only worked with him for a couple of years, he had made those years unbearable. Herah closed her eyes tight, trying to fight the memories.

**_Hands. Large, blue grey hands. Hands covered in scars, the left hand missing an index finger… Hands searching for her. Hands that stunk of Chasind Sack Mead… Hands pulling her out of her bed roll, hand reaching for her flesh…_ **

Herah shuddered and coughed, the sudden nausea and the stink of fear rife in the air, bile suddenly threatening to burst from her lips, the horror and sickness of those awful memories leaving her shattered and broken. All over again. Wanting, no, _needing_ to forget, Herah hurried down to the tents where Varric was staying, eager to get some much-needed air.

 

**_LATER…_ **

It was close to mid-day before Herah felt up to meeting with Iron Bull’s second. Having changed into something more presentable, Herah walked up to the stables, amber eyes narrowed, turning a corner and catching sight of a young man standing near the stables, Herah blinking as she analyzed him silently made her way towards the young man, her feet making no sound. “My spymaster said you were looking for me.” she said simply when she reached his side. “Well, here I am. How can I help you?”

The young man jumped and turned to face her, Herah giving his sharp features a quick study. Ah. A Tevinter. She then smiled apologetically, realizing that she had surprised him. Just because she was big, most humans assumed she would be loud as well. But as a rogue who specialized stealth, Herah tended to walk quietly, having always been able to mask her movements from others. And after so many years working as a mercenary, Herah had a chance to hon her abilities till she used them instinctively.

To his credit, the second recovered quickly and gave her a respectful nod, Herah now getting the feeling that she would never sneak up on him again. “Cremisius Aclassi, with the Iron Bull’s chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevera. We got word that some Tevinter mercenaries are gathering out in the Storm Coast. My company’s commander, Iron Bull, offers this information free of charge.”

Herah blinked, taking this all in, and then arched a brow. “Oh, well how magnanimous of him. And what pray tell does he want in return?” she asked sarcastically.

And once again Cremisius surprised her by chuckling. Apparently, he was used to Qunari sarcasm. “If you want to find out, meet with us on the Storm Coast, and see what we can do.”

Herah leaned back into her boots, her mind feeling like a tumbleweed. Should she agree to this, or not? A part of her didn’t like the idea of working with someone that could potentially be like Korrath, or someone that was a devout follower of the Qun… but there was also that other side of her that desperately needed someone with her that was well, _like her_. Someone that didn’t look at her and see ‘tall ogre,’ ‘monster,’ or ‘ox woman.’ An equal. Herah reached up to massage her temple, the conflict and lack of sleep giving her a headache. “Tell me about your company. What’s your commander like?” _Will he be an asset… or an obstacle?_

Cremisius seemed to sense her concern and mistrust, and smiled. “The Iron Bull? Well, he’s a Qunari, like you. He leads from the front, pays us regularly, and is a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for. Best of all he is a professional; only accepts contracts that are paid for up front without taking sides. You’re the first time he’s ever gone out of his way to pick a side.”

Herah blinked at that. “Me? Why me?”

Cremisius shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Bull has heard of you, and said that he liked what he heard. He wants to side with the Inquisition because he knows you are doing good work.”

Herah arched at brow again and glowered. “Does he know I’m Tal-Vashoth?” she asked pointedly. No way a devout follower of the Qun would be happy about _that_.

Cremisius paused at that, his face tightening as he looked up at her. “Yes, he knows… but I doubt it would matter. Look, Iron Bull might be a Qunari, and yea, he’s really into that Qun thing… but he’s also more than that. He knows when someone is worth following, and if he says that you are, then he means it.”

Herah took a moment to think, weighing her options. It sounded like this Iron Bull was one of those rare ‘reasonable’ sorts. Only way to find out for sure however was meeting him. _Egh_. “Tell your commander I’ll meet with him and his Chargers in three days.” Herah murmured, and with that quickly turned away, heading back to the chantry, not wanting Cremisius to see her hope. Maker knew how fragile it was.

 

_**LATER…** _

“Our good lady Nightingale tells me you are having nightmares again.” A gentle voice said behind her.

Herah looked up, fighting a scowl, finding the elven mage, Solas, standing behind her, the elf watching her carefully. Herah, who had made her way towards the tavern for a bite and a pint, sighed before sliding down the bench she was seated on, the hulking Qunari rogue giving the smaller elf space to sit down next to her, the mage doing so wordlessly, the bench creaking under her weight.

“I suppose you would have found out eventually. The Herald has nightmares. Such news _must_ be shared.” Herah muttered sarcastically, mentally promising herself to have a word with her spymaster. Damn woman. Did she always have to meddle?!

Solas tilted his head to the side, his face pensive, ignoring the bite in her tone. Something of which unsettled her greatly. Solas wasn’t like other elves. Or humans. Or dwarves. Or anyone she’d ever met for that matter. He didn’t act like a Dalish, calling her ‘ _hunvhen’_ and yelling at her about her horns or the fact that she was well, big. Nor did he act like a city elf, falling all over himself or groveling. He acted almost… amused by her. Which was strange as hell, since everyone else feared her. Even now Herah could feel the eyes tracking her every move, her ears catching the murmured whispers. There was table of hunters seated nearby that were quietly placing bets on whether or not she would end up breaking the bench. Sera was doubling their bets. The woman that ran the tavern had called her ‘ox woman.’ Herah was starting to bristle under the constant negative scrutiny.

“You are not used to others helping you, are you?” he asked curiously.

Herah sighed and turned to give him a sad glare. “You mean that I’m not used to people helping _me_ , the ‘scary Qunari?’” she asked sarcastically. Then she chuckled and glowered into her beer, wishing it was something stronger. “No, not really.”

Solas smiled, as if amused by her snark and sarcasm. Hmm. He’d be the first. Well. Except for Shokorar. She had thought that Herah was hilarious. “Well, then all the better that it is I, the evil apostate, that come here to your aid.” he said with a teasing smile.

With an amused snort, Herah lifted her glass and gave it a swallow. “So what is the remedy this time? Another shit tasting potion? Or will it be something baser then that? Demonic possession perhaps? Or maybe a charm? Like a dead dog’s dick? ” she asked with a wink.

The elf chuckled. See? She could have a sense of humor when she wanted to. “With so many options, it’s hard to choose.” he mused. Then tilted his head to the side, and gave her a careful look. “Why don’t we start with telling me what the dreams are about. Maybe I can help?”

Herah glowered into her ale. “You assume I’m the chatty, sharing type, Solas. I’m not. I’m more of the repressed, loner type who would rather keep things to herself.”

“Ah you are? I have not noticed.” Solas replied, all innocence.

Herah let out a loud laugh. She had to hand it to him. He was funny. Then Herah inhaled, her eyes going to her ale. She might as well tell him. If not he’d pester her until she got angry enough to turn to violence, and the last thing she needed to was to lose her cool on a mage. They had the tendency to set people on fire. “It’s hard to talk about.” she started. Solas nodded, letting her continue. Herah sighed. “I dream about how I got the anchor. Or what I remember, anyway.”

“And what do you remember?” the elf asked her, Solas keeping his voice low, something she appreciated.

For a moment Herah had to collect herself, the memories of what had happened in the Conclave still raw. Even though she didn’t remember much, it was still somehow tender, as if her body remembered the ordeal while her mind had blocked it out. “It’s blurry… but I remember running… as if something was chasing me… and I remember pain… pain in my hand… before what looks like a woman pulls me away… and finally a voice speaks to me. Whispers mostly, hard to hear… but still terrifying. It says I’ll die soon… that the mark will eventually kill me.” Herah said slowly, her eyes going to the mark, her eyes hard as she glared into the gleaming green light. Giving herself a shake, she cleared her throat and sat up, noticing then that the tavern had gone silent, everyone now watching her, hanging on her every word. Seeing that she was looking up now, the bar patrons turned away and chatter resumed, Herah rolling her eyes. Damn humans. So curious. “Then I wake up.” she finally finished with a shrug, turning towards the elven mage, hoping he’d get the message and drop it.

Solas stared into her eyes, and for a moment Herah saw something there. Pain? Guilt? Pity? It was hard to tell. Then it was gone. “ _Ir abelas mar nu, ma’ falon_.” The mage murmured. Then he sighed. “From what I can tell, the dreams are simply a side effect of the mark, which connects you to the Fade. I can only hope that they will fade with time, but there are no clear answers.”

Herah sighed and drank the last of her beer. “Yea I figured as much.” And with that she got up, and headed to her room, not bothering to look back. She could already feel the stares follow her out.

**THREE DAYS LATER…**

_I **hate** the Stormcoast_ , Herah thought to herself for the hundredth time. And once again had to fight the urge to turn her horse around and head back to Haven. It had indeed taken her three days to reach the Stormcoast, and Herah had loathed every minute she spent reaching her destination. The rain was incessant, and everything was wet. Sera kept making comments about Herah’s knickers being soaked, the archer constantly offering to ‘dry’ them for her, and Herah was an inch away from strangling the elf, no longer finding the joke funny. The fact that she was also traveling with Vivienne, who constantly whined about the mud and the smell of wet horse did not help matters. Hell, the only one who had enough sense to not complain was Blackwall, and even _he_ had fallen into a sullen silence, having been chastised enough times by the mage to simply start ignoring her, the Warden staring straight ahead, saying nothing. Everyone was on edge, and it showed on all their faces.

“Damn _basra_ ,” Herah muttered to herself when she heard Vivienne wail once more about mud getting on her robes, turning to look over her shoulder, giving the human _saarebas_ a savage glare, amber eyes burning. “That quite _enough_ Vivienne!” she snapped, her harsh tone causing the mage to blink. “Look, _none_ of us are comfortable right now, so do us all a favor and…”

**_THUNK!_ **

It was then that the arrow that had been carefully aimed at her head just flew past her face, landing squarely on the tree just behind her, the arrow slicing a line through her cheek, the blood hot as it splashed against her armor, Herah yelping, not having enough time to really do anything about it, the arrow spooking her horse, causing the beast to scream and rear up. And just like that Herah was pitched from her mount, landing on the floor with a heavy thud, Herah grunting in pain at the impact. Heart pounding, Herah rolled to her knees, hearing her comrades cry out behind her, looking up just in time to see one big brute armed with sword and shield charge at her, the Tevinter ready to gut her like a fish with his blade, Herah reaching back for her knives, knowing she was too late…

**_BOOOMSH!_ **

And that was when a massive war ax slammed into the Tevinter’s back, Herah wincing, hearing the bones in the human’s spine crunch, Herah using this moment of distraction to roll to the side, slipping past the shield, Herah’s knives slicing through the man’s chest, blood and guts spilling on the floor, Herah dancing back, watching as the man let out a final gurgle before slopping to the floor, Herah’s heart pounding, turning to face the war ax’s owner…. And for the first time in weeks, Herah had to look _up_ to meet someone’s eyes.

Or in this case, eye.

Standing before her, gripping a massive war ax as if it weighed nothing, was possibly one of the _largest_ Qunari warriors she’d ever seen. Although he wasn’t much taller than her father, he was possibly twice as wide. He was built like a fortress, corded muscle every inch of him, Herah feeling her mouth drop open slightly, not used to seeing someone so large stand so close to her, Herah taking another step back to get a good look at him. The Iron Bull’s skin was a slightly lighter ash grey than hers, and he was covered in scars, the most noticeable being the ones on the left side of his face. Someone had hit him hard with a mace, and literally knocked his right eye out, the Iron Bull resorting to wearing a simple eye patch. His horns were somewhat like hers, but instead of twisting upwards and towards the back like a crown, his slanted up and off to the sides, like those of a bull, no doubt that being what led to his namesake. With a goatee, sea grey eyes, and a hook nose that looked like it must have been broken a few times, the Iron Bull was a beast of a man, easily outweighing her but several kilos. Herah tried hard not to stare. And failed miserably.

“Thanks.” Herah said meekly, after a moment of staring. _Because, you know, politeness and all that._

The Iron Bull grinned wolfishly. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice deep and rich, Herah instantly recognizing the accent. Hide it though he tried, it was unmistakable. This guy was from Par Vollen alright, just like her parents. “But it’s not over yet.” he then added, and with a wink he turned and returned to the fray, Herah blinking, realizing that there was still a battle going on, Herah glancing about, finding that her companions were still fighting.

 _“Vashedan!”_ she snarled, blushing, and quickly followed the Iron Bull the fray, the two Qunari soon finding themselves fighting alongside one another, both settling into an easy pattern of mayhem, Herah cutting a path through the mercenaries while the Iron Bull crashed into them, ripping them asunder. Within minutes it was over, Herah coming to a stop, breathing hard, her blood roaring and her senses alight, the _hum_ that always followed her into battle eventually settling down, her bloodied hands clutching her daggers, Herah leaning forward, resting her hands on her knees for a moment, before standing up strait, her eyes going to her comrades, concerned. “Everyone alright?” she asked, concerned.

Blackwall looked up at Herah, the Warden also breathing hard, his sword embedded into the ground, while Vivienne was busying tending to Sera, who had apparently been shot in the shoulder with an arrow, the elf swearing up a storm while the mage who, for once, was doing what she was supposed to be doing, and using one of her healing spells on the archer.

“We’re all right, for the most part, Inquisitor.” Blackwall replied. “The worst off is Sera, but her armor caught most of it.”

Herah nodded, and turned towards the Iron Bull and the Chargers, watching as the Qunari dispensed his orders, Herah first whipping them clean before returning her blades to their scabbards, Herah walking up to the warrior, the one-eyed Qunari turning to face her, a wide smiling spitting across his face, the Iron Bull letting out a loud laugh. “Hot damn, so it _is_ true!” he said with a laugh. “Oh, the chantry must _love_ you. A Qunari mercenary as the Herald of Andraste? Who’da thought?”

Herah grimaced at that. Yep, pretty much her own reaction when she was told of her new role. _Amused incredulity._ Sighing in resignation, Herah nodded in greeting, coming to stand before the Qunari warrior, having to look up once more. Which was still going to take some getting used to. “ _Shanedan sten_.” she replied, remembering her manners, thinking that the Iron Bull would appreciate her using their native language, Herah going so far as to make an effort with the accent.

Instead Iron Bull frowned, and he turned to glance over at his men as if to check to see if they heard her. Odd. “Yeah, let’s keep that to a minimum? Makes my boys twitchy.”

Herah stared. He didn’t like her speaking Qunlat in front of his men? That was… odd. Deciding to not make anything of it, she followed the Iron Bull, who walked over to a boulder and settled down, the giant of a man resting his ax into the sand and leaning against the handle, Herah giving the handle a glance. _Maker’s breath_. It was thicker than her wrist. “I assume you remember my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi.” he asked then, nodding toward his second command as he passed them.

“Good to see you again,” said Cremisius with a smile and a nod.  Herah smiled and nodded back, privately impressed with how quickly the Tevinter collected himself. Clearly used to war, this one.  “Throat-cutters are done, Chief.” The young warrior announced.

“Already?  Have ‘em check again.  I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away.  No offense, Krem.” Iron Bull said with a chuckle.

“None taken, Chief. ‘Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, eh?” Cremisius replied with a smirk, Herah silently watching the interaction, everything making her feel more and more confused. Who was this Qunari that allowed his second to speak to him in such a way?! A properly trained _Karasten_ , or Qunari commander, would have snapped the Tevinter’s neck for such a comment! Or so her father had taught her…

Chuckling, Iron Bull resumed his study of her, this causing Herah to feel self-conscious, and the rogue suddenly wished she was back in Haven. The look in his sea grey eye… drew her in. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Herah snorted. Afford it? _Most defiantly_ , **_especially_** with Josephine manning the Inquisition treasury. Her frugality was legendary. Not that Herah complained. She kept the ship afloat… and the ship had holes… and was on fire. “Just what exactly is this going to cost me?” she asked, arching a brow. “The Inquisition isn’t exactly lush with coin at the moment. And myself? Less so.”

Iron Bull smiled at that, one mercenary clearly understanding another. “Ah. You don’t foot the bill personally. Your human ambassador, er, what’s her name? Josephine? She’ll set up the bill. Gold always takes care of itself.” Herah frowned, still feeling uncertain, which Iron Bull must have noticed so he continued speaking, leaning forward, sea grey eyes burning into her. “Look, it’s a good deal. Even better, you don’t just get the Chargers. You also get me.”

Herah sniffed and crossed her arms, arching a brow. “And that matters because?” she asked dryly, making a show of glancing at the dead bodies that littered the ground, bodies she herself ripped into. “What do I need you for? Last I checked, I was doing just fine without you or your Chargers.”

Iron Bull frowned and for the first time Herah felt as if she had gotten to him. Which was important to her for some unknown reason? Then the Iron Bull got to his feet and stepped close, towering over her, no doubt trying to use his height to intimidate her, and Herah had to fight the urge to step back, not used to having to look up at someone, Herah standing her ground instead, glaring at him. She would **_NOT_** be bullied by another arrogant Qun-lover. **_Never again_.**

Then Iron Bull reached out, his hand quick, Herah jerking back but not before he gently brushed her cheek with a finger, Herah wincing in pain, the finger coming back red. The cut on her cheek. She was still bleeding? Herah flushed, her lips curling into a voiceless snarl. Cocky son-of-a-bitch. “Your cheek says otherwise, boss.” he replied softly, Herah pausing at the nickname. _Boss?!_ Then the Iron Bull sighed and stepped back, wiping the blood off on his pant leg. “Look, you need a front-line bodyguard. I’m your man. Whatever it is, demons, dragons?  The bigger the better.” Then he grinned, flashing teeth. “Face it, Inquisitor. You need me.”

Herah grumbled under her breath and glared at the ground, not wanting to admit it. _Damn it._ He was right. Although she hated to admit it, but deep down Herah knew that he was right. The attack today proved that. Although she trusted Blackwall and Cassandra, Iron Bull was different. He had skills that she could use, plus experience that she needed. While both Blackwall and Cassandra were proficient fighters, she needed someone like him; a fortress of pain and death. Someone that would just rain destruction upon her enemies without her having to worry about him questioning her sense loyalty or upsetting some ridiculous code of honor. In other words she needed a bruiser. Like him.

Egh. _Nug shit._

“There’s one other thing. Might be useful. Might piss you off.”

Herah felt her face tighten up. _Maker, there was **more**_?! Herah braced herself for whatever he had to say, thinking that whatever it was, he couldn’t surprise her at this point. He literally was one of the most unusual Qunari she had ever met. Besides. How bad could it really be? Nothing she hadn’t dealt with before, right?

“Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

 _Wrong_. Herah grimaced. She was so wrong. That _was_ bad. “My parents told me of them. They’re basically the spies of the Qunari. Right? Secret police, undercover agents, and the like.” she replied carefully, remembering more specifically what her father had to said about them. _They breathe lies, their words are silk and honey... promising you everything... and meaning nothing. **Never** trust them,_ he had said.

“That’s them… or, well, _me_.”

Herah squeezed her eyes closed and muttered a few choice swear words under her breath, feeling that the Iron Bull carefully watching her. “Let me get this straight. You’re _Ben-Hassrath_?” she repeated, and watched as the Iron Bull nodded.

Herah sniffed, almost close to laughter, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at the sky. A sodding Ben-Hassrath. This was the miraculous mercenary commander that Lilianna wanted her to work with? A spy of the Qunari empire?! _**“Maker’s balls!”**_ she snarled angrily, Blackwall looking up at that, Herah ignoring the Warden for now. Instead Herah looked up at the Iron Bull and glowered. “You are Ben-Hassrath... and you just told me?! Shouldn’t you be a little, oh I don’t know, ‘secretive’ about it?!” Either that… or he was the **_worst_** spy in all of Thedas… something of which she did _not_ need.

Iron Bull snorted, apparently finding her anger amusing, this just making her want to throttle him all the more. “And try to hide my identity from something called ‘the Inquisition?’ Nah. Your spymaster would’ve figured me out soon enough. I thought that it would be better if I just told you up front.”

Herah frowned, turning to the others, wondering what they thought. Vivienne was subtlety shaking her head, while both Blackwall and Sara just stared at her, the two clearly waiting for her verdict. Wonderful. So helpful, as always. “Why are you telling me this? What does the Ben-Hassrath and the Qunari want with the Inquisition?” she asked. Last thing she needed was to worry about the damn Qunari getting involved in this mess. Maker knew she had enough problems.

Iron Bull sighed and crossed his arms over his massive chest, Herah hearing the bones in his shoulders pop. “The Ben-Hassrath are worried about the rifts. Magic like that can cause problems everywhere. They feel that it’s a potential crisis if it’s not handled well. They **_were_** planning on telling the Qunari to invade… until I told them that the Inquisitor is, well, _you_ ; a fellow Qunari. Once I told them that, I was ordered to get close to the people in charge and report back what’s going on. But it’s a two-sided deal. You sign me on, and I’ll share with you any Ben-Hassrath reports that can prove to be useful to the Inquisition.”

“But I’m Vashoth!” she replied, confused. “And my parents are Tal- Vashoth! They left Par Vollen. I hate the Qun! Isn’t that a problem?” she asked, knowing that she had asked Krem pretty much the same thing the other day. But she needed to hear it from the Iron Bull, here and now, _before_ it became a problem.

Iron Bull tilted his head to the side so that his good eye looked directly into her own. “It might be a problem for them… but not me. When I heard that it was a Qunari merc out of the Free Marches that was made Inquisitor, I did a little digging. I know about your company. And I know that your parents are Tal Vashoth, but not the asshole murdering kind. So if you are willing to work with me, then I’ll work with you. Look at it as an opportunity to keeping the Qunari out of Thedas, as well as get reports from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath.”

Herah scowled at that, still not completely convinced. “What kind of reports? What will you be telling your superiors?”

Iron Bull leaned against his ax again, Herah getting the feeling that he was anxious. With the questions or the necessary honesty? He didn’t strike her as the dishonest type… but then again he was Ben-Hassrath, so lies must come as naturally to him as breathing. So why the nerves? Or was he just one of those fidgeting type? Most warriors were. “Spy reports mostly. Enemy movements. Important gossip. That sort of thing. As for what I send back, don’t worry. I won’t send anything that will compromise the Inquisition.”

Herah scowled. And she was just supposed to take his word for it? What kind of fool did he think she was? The ‘gullible, trusting kind,’ apparently. Herah glared at the Iron Bull, her gaze cold and full of dark promises, stepping up to him, Iron Bull several inches taller than her, his wide frame dwarfing hers, this not intimidating her in the slightest. Not now. Not ever. Korrath had been bigger than her as well. Didn’t stop her from putting a knife in his eye. “You will run all of your reports through my spymaster, Lilianna. She oversees _everything_ you send, _before_ you send it. If you don’t, I’ll have her stick you full of arrows. Ben-Hassrath or not you work for **_me_** now. Understood?”

Iron Bull smiled, and Herah mentally cringed. That smile… was not a ‘pretty’ smile. It was savage and violent, matching her evil glare in intensity. This was not someone she’d like to cross… Ever. “Sure boss. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” he said solemnly, his tone not matching the glimmer of violence in his smile. Then Bull turned to his men, Herah watching him as he walked off, easily carrying that war ax, her eyes narrowed and her stomach twisted into knots, the rogue knowing then and there that her life had just changed. She, a hater of the Qun, would be working with a Qun-loving Ben-Hassrath.

_Maker’s breath, what’d she get herself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **TRANSLATIONS:**  
>   
> 
>  **hunvhen** = Elvish word for Qunari  
>  **Ir abelas mar nu, ma’ falon.** = I am sorry for your pain, my friend.  
>  **basra** = Rude term for non-Qunari people.  
>  **Saarebas** = Literal translation; "Dangerous thing;" the Qunari word for mages.  
>  **Vashedan** = Crap (literally "refuse" or "trash."); A common profanity.  
>  **Shanedan** = Literally, "I'll hear you." A respectful greeting.  
>  **Sten** = Infantry platoon commander.


	2. Old Wounds Kill you the Fastest.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah and the Iron Bull get to talking... It does NOT end well. At all.

Shortly after going through the bodies and burning them, Herah, her companions, the Iron Bull, and his Chargers started to make their way back to Haven, the group stopping to make camp when the sun started to set. It had taken her and her companions most of the day to reach the Stormcoast, but the weather quickly diminished any need or want for further travel.

After helping put up the tents and starting a fire, Herah seated herself before the warm flames, quietly chewing on some dried nug jerky and watching the sky as it darkened, the stars soon appearing along the horizon. Sera and Vivienne retired quickly, Sera eager for a chance to rest and Viviane eager for a chance to escape the cold, Herah looking up when Blackwall made his way up to her, the Warden slipping off his helmet and setting it aside. “Your wound needs tendin’ to, Inquisitor.” he said simply, gesturing to her cheek.

Herah blinked, then reached up and touched her face, wincing. Despite the fact that Qunari had thicker skin then humans and elves, iron still cut, Herah reaching back, realizing that the arrow had also cut her ear. Damn vints. Damn arrows. Damn war. Damn _everything_. Grumbling under her breath, Herah leaned forward and grabbed Blackwall’s helmet, the rogue lifting it up, using it as a mirror, looking at her reflection. Sure enough there was a long, deep gash that stretched across her cheek, just under her eye, leaving a bleeding furrow, Herah inspecting the edges, seeing that her skin was already purple and swollen with infection. Damn mercenaries must have put something on the arrowheads, Herah guessing some kind of poison. Luckily being Qunari afforded her some immunity to most poisons, so she figured that if she hadn’t noticed it before, then she’d survive. Herah swore under her breath, realizing that this wound would probably leave a scar. Lovely. Another one for the collection, Herah thought to herself.

Blackwall looked at her with concern, the Warden getting to his feet. “I’ll get Vivienne to look at it.” he murmured before marching off.

Herah snorted, amused by the sentiment. Vivienne? Help. Please. The woman might be an accomplished mage, but she was a lousy healer. Terrible bedside manner. Shaking her head in resignation, already knowing that the two would probably end up arguing again long before either could be of any help, Herah reached down into her supply pack and pulled out a small sewing kit she carried, intending to stitch the wound herself, Herah looking at her reflection while carefully preparing the black thread and needle, her face pinched with frustration. Damn vints.

“You need help with that, boss?” a deep voice spoke from behind her, Herah jumping in surprise before looking up, finding the Iron Bull standing near her, his good sea grey eye watching her. His men had already settled down in their side of the camp, the sound of their talk reaching her ears. With his men already settled, the Iron Bull must have come over to check up on her.

For a moment Herah was at a loss, a part of her not wanting to be touched again by another male Qunari, the taint of Korrath’s touch having left lasting memories, the other part of her acknowledging that she needed the help. Damn helmet was proving to be a lousy mirror. Finally, after a moment of internal debate, she finally nodded, Herah scooting over to give the larger warrior space next to her before settling down herself, the rogue crossing her legs and resting her amber eyes on the fire in front of her. She would not react to his touch. No flinching. No wincing. She would just sit there and breathe. Right? Right.

Iron Bull soundlessly sat down next to her, Herah feeling dwarfed by the massive man, Herah automatically mindful of his horns, Iron Bull noticing her leaning her head to the side so that his horns didn’t collide with her own, this causing him to chuckle. “Sorry, boss. It’s been a while since I’ve sat next to someone who’s well, tall.” he murmured, the Ben-Hassrath taking the black thread and needle from her.

“When was the last time you’ve seen another Qunari?” she asked, curious despite her misgivings.

Iron Bull paused, this causing Herah to unintentionally look up at him, Herah then having to fight a smile. He was sticking out his tongue but his good eye was looking up, clearly counting the time. Fighting a giggle, Herah looked back at the fire, not wanting to find this endearing. Nope. Not funny. Not at all. “Mmmm. About three years.” Then he paused and Herah glanced up to see that a look crossed over his face. Was it loneliness? Longing? Herah didn’t know and was not about to ask, the rogue resuming her stare down with the fire. Feeling the Iron Bull give himself a small shake, Herah then felt him reach out to poke at her cheek, and readied herself. “Don’t move, boss. About to start.” she head Iron Bull murmur then, these words then followed by stinging pain, Herah inhaling sharply but steeling herself and not moving. Ouch.

“I take it you’ve done this before?” she asked teasingly, after a while, hoping to lighten the mood, taking care to not move her lips too much.

The Iron Bull chuckled softly, his touch gentle even though he was piercing her cheek with a sharp needle. “Have you seen me? Scars on every corner.” he said, his tone almost playful. “I have the very same kit in my tent.” He then admitted, this confession causing Herah to smile, this getting a tsk! from the Iron Bull, who probably didn’t need her smiling right now.

Herah struggled to resume a stiff face, inhaling sharply. “Occupational hazard.” she murmured, this getting a simple grunt is response.

After a while the two simply sat there, Herah quietly staring into the fire while Bull stitched her cheek, Herah making no moves nor speaking, the two warriors settling into an somewhat uncomfortable but necessary silence, neither looking up, not even when Blackwall and Vivienne walked up to them, the two humans staring at the two for a moment, Herah arching a brow. Yes? Sniffing with annoyance, Vivienne handed Herah a bottle of healing potion before turning to return to her tent, Herah catching the mage muttering to herself about meddlesome Qunari, Herah rolling her eyes at that. Orlisians. Seeing that Vivienne had gone, Blackwall then moved to sit down before the fire, having changed out of his armor, Herah watching him as he started to whittle something out of wood, the Warden soon slipping into a sleep, resting his head against a boulder.

“Done.” Iron Bull announced soon after, Herah blinking, her mind half asleep, and turned to look up at him. Done? Already?

Fighting the urge to get up and run off to her tent, Herah instead reached up to touch her cheek, giving the stitches a study, feeling that familiar sensation of tightness on her flesh. “Thank you.” she murmured in appreciation, a part of her having to admit that it had been kind of him to help her, while the other part of her not trusting him, or his motives, just yet.

Iron Bull watched her, face expressionless. “You are welcome.” Then he turned to look into the fire, the two falling silent, neither wanting to admit they were the weaker one and going to sleep first, both warriors staring silently into the fire, both too stubborn to give in to the other.

“So… you don’t like Qunari, huh?” Iron Bull suddenly said then, Herah turning to look up at him, their eyes meeting.

Herah arched a brow. “You mean ‘real’ Qunari like you?” she asked snidely. Maker knew how many times she’d been compared to other “true” Qunari, after all. Herah scowled then, not liking where this was going, but chose to respond anyway. He wanted to know? Fine. “No. I just don’t trust them.” she replied. “I had a bad experience with a Qun follower. It taught me to be careful.” Not that Korrath had been a real Qun follower. Just because he said he followed the Qun didn’t mean he was one in actuality… but the fact that he had used his false devotion to that flawed edict had left a lasting impression on her, one she would not easily forget… Or forgive.

Iron Bull frowned. “Oh? Is that it? I would have thought that your parents…”

“My parents had their own reasons for not following the Qun.” Herah interrupted sharply, turning to give the Iron Bull a warning glare. She would **_not_** discuss her family with him. It wasn’t any of his business, plus she did not need the Ben-Hassrath investigating her parents. They’d suffered enough. Gritting her teeth, Herah then turned back to the fire, feeling it. The tension. The unresolved anger, no, _rage_. Deny it all she wanted. Iron Bull, in a way, was right. She _**DID**_ hate Qunari. More specifically, she hated those that blindly followed the Qun, or worse yet, used it as an excuse to commit evil, base acts, like Korrath did. Korrath had damaged her in ways she was still trying to understand. That coupled with what had happened to her parents… Well, Herah thought she had buried it, forcing herself to move on and forget. But talking about it with this man, this Iron Bull, seemed to just bubble it all back to the surface. Damn him. “Their reasons are theirs, while I have mine. Let’s leave it at that.”

For a long moment the two sat there, Iron Bull glaring at her, that single eye of his burning into her, while Herah desperately resumed staring into the flames, not wanting to continue this conversation, but also not willing to submit to weakness. If he asked, she would answer. But by the Maker did she hate talking about this. _**Hated. It.**_

“Fine.” Iron Bull finally snarled in defeat, and with a grunt he surged to his feet, the Qunari warrior glaring down at her before heading to his men, Herah watching him as he walked away, glaring daggers into his head. Bastard. She already knew that this was not over. They were going to end up talking again. And she wasn’t ready for it. She was not ready to deal with the rage. 

“Damn it.” Herah grumbled, grabbing a stick and tossing it into the fire before looking up, Herah flinching when she found that Blackwall was awake and watching her.

“Want to talk about it?” Blackwall asked her, his tone careful but his eyes deep wells of concern.

Herah blushed, not used to someone… caring. It was one of those things that she liked about the Warden. He cared about others, without being a nosy prick. Then Herah shook her head, sighing. “No. Just… ignore me. Seeing men like Iron Bull… another Qunari warrior… It brings back bad memories, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

Blackwall glanced back at the Iron Bull and his Chargers, clearly waiting for the large Qunari to get out of earshot before speaking again. “Want me to tell him to sod off?” he asked then, grinning and wiggling his bushy eyebrows.

Herah let out a loud laugh. “No, thank you Blackwall, but that won’t be necessary. At least not tonight it’s not. Now get some sleep my friend. Tomorrow is another day.” Herah said with a smile.

Then she took her own advice, and headed for her own tent… but not without giving Iron Bull’s muscular back a goodnight glare.

Nosy prick.

 

* * *

  

The trip home was remarkably uneventful, and thankfully so. The Iron Bull and his Chargers however did manage to make it interesting by singing nonstop, their songs varying in quality, some tame, and some not so tame. Sera had even gone so far as to teach them the tavern song that had been written about her, and by the time they had arrived, all of them ended up knowing “Sera Was Never,” by heart. Whether they wanted to or not.

It did not take long for the Iron Bull and his Chargers to settle in, nor did it take long for rumors about the massive Qunari warrior to start floating about, stories of his skill both on and off his feet enough to put the town into a stir. Not that Herah cared for such things. She had enough problems without having to worry about the idiot Qunari bedding up some simpleton barmaid or Chantry sister. After all, as everyone liked to constantly remind her, she had a duty to uphold.

It’d been several days since they’d returned to Haven, and Herah was itching to find a distraction. The conflict between the Mages and the Templars was quickly escalating. She’d soon need to make a decision regarding the two factions, and Herah was finding it hard to decide on which truly warranted her support. Herah had never liked the way how mages were treated, having been raised by one. But she also understood the important role the Templar’s played. If her brother would have had a Templar guiding him… protecting him… then maybe he’d be alive today. Pain and turmoil slammed into her at that thought, and Herah quickly banished that memory, the shock of it causing her to gasp aloud and sit up straight, her heart bleeding it pain… the loss, even though it was years old, still fresh. _Maker’s breath… **she hadn’t thought about Kaaras in years…**_

Cullen, Josephine and Lilianna looked up at her at that, the three humans taken aback, having been in a meeting with them, discussing Maker only knew. She’d forgotten already.. “Mistress Adaar? Are you all right?” Cullen asked, clearly worried.

Herah nodded curtly, but blinked, realizing that she had got to her feet despite her best efforts, suddenly needing to get out, and walk about. _Damn it._ Happened every time she thought about her brother. “Fine. Look, I don’t need to be here for this, right? Just decide what you want to do, with, er, um…” Herah then faltered, having already forgotten the name of the idiot noble that had apparently wanted to duel poor Cullen.

“Vicomte Tremane Pontival.” Collen answered dryly.

Herah nodded again, stumbling back, her heart pounding, wanting, no, **_needing_** to get out of that damn office and get some air. “Yes, um, him. Look, just take care of it for me, will you? I need a break.” And with that Herah spun around and exited the war room as quickly as decorum would allow without looking like a complete horse’s ass, her feet carrying out of the temple.

Heart still pounding, Herah plowed her way away from the temple, her eyes unfocused, her feet taking her down to where the soldiers were sparing, Herah coming to a stop, her hands trembling, the Qunari rogue closing her eyes… and immediately started to chant an old chant her father had taught her, one of the few phrases in Qunlat he still spoke. _“Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun…”_ she began, saying the phrase over and over, Hearh feeling her pounding heart start to still. Her brother was dead. Thinking about him would not bring him back. _“Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun… Meraad astaarit…”_

 _“Meraad itwasit, aban aqun…”_ a deep voice finished behind to her, and Herah jumped, spinning around to find the Iron Bull standing a few away from her, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark sea grey eye watching her closely. “The tide rises, the tide falls, and the sea is unchanged.” he said, translating the phrase to Common, as if she had no idea what she had been saying. Then he stepped closer to her, and Herah started to feel her heart pound once more. “That’s an Arvaarad chant. My tama used to say it. Said that it’d calmed our nerves. She used to train Arvaarad before she trained agents for the Ben-Hassrath.” he said slowly. Then he stepped even closer and looked her dead in the eye. “Who taught you that saying, boss?” he asked softly.

Panic flooded her senses, and Herah stumbled back. **_No, no, no, no!_ ** She ruined her family! She killed her parents! He’d now have to contact his people, and they would send people looking for her family! “What?! N,no one!” she squeaked. Then Herah inhaled and before she could understand how or why, she was reaching for her daggers, moving faster than the larger man expected. And just like that she had a dagger pointed to his chest, Herah’s mouth forming a thin line, her eyes blazing. “You heard nothing. Do you understand me?! _**NOTHING**_.”

Too his credit, the Iron Bull stayed still,  spreading his hands wide so that she could see them, the larger Qunari then glancing to the side, Herah realizing then that they were not alone. Dozens of soldiers surrounded them, each of them holding their weapons, watching Bull closely, their face dark and grim, as if waiting to see what would happen next… each of them waiting for her orders Herah realized, her eyes widening. _Maker’s breath!_

Herah gave Iron Bull a long glare, letting her dagger gleam under the sun, their eyes meeting. And just like that she knew. He was trapped. The next move was up to her. “In case it’s not obvious, that’s private.” she growled. “You would do well not to ask me about that again.”

Bull glared at her. “So, it was a family member then? Your father maybe?” he replied snidely.

 _ **Damn Ben-Hassrath!** He was a smart son-of-a-bitch._ Herah’s hand started to tremble, the urge to gut him then and there oh so present. Maker she wanted to end him there. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d been careless. She shouldn’t have let her mind wander to her brother… shouldn’t have chanted out loud. There were eyes and ears here, and they never stopped watching. A lesson she had learned the hard way. “You really should learn to not meddle in other’s people’s affairs.” Herah remarked tightly.

“My tama used to say the same thing.” Bull replied with an even tighter smile.

Herah almost chuckled. Almost. Instead she lowered her hand, her eyes glancing at the soldiers that surrounded them. “Go back to your business.”

“Are you sure, m’lady?” one soldier asked, Herah recognizing her. She was one of Cullen’s Templars.

Herah nodded. “I am.”

Herah then waited a few minutes, watching as the soldiers began to disperse, her face set in a tight grimace when she finally returned her gaze to the larger Qunari in front of her. “Look, I know that as a Ben-Hassrath, you probably feel compelled to talk more about this, or to find out who taught me that chant…” Herah began. Then she let the fear in, and let the emotion show in her voice. “But I beg of you… please… don’t tell anyone. This has to stay here. If I’m going to succeed at this Herald of Andraste thing… then I need to do it knowing that my family is safe.” She pleaded softly, keeping her words low so that only he would hear her.

Bull stood there for a moment, studying her. Then he finally nodded once, his eye burning into her, and Herah knew that he understood.

“My father was an Arvaarad… and my mother was his Saarebas.” Herah finally murmured softly. And with that she spun around and headed away as quickly as he feet would take here, intent on going to the tavern, her mind a whirling mess of emotion.

First Korrath. Then her parents. And finally her brother. Would this damn Qunari ever stop bringing up old grievances? Or was he intent on driving her completely mad?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **TRANSLATIONS:**  
>   
> 
>  **Arvaarad** = a Qunari rank that means "holds back Evil" in Qunlat, in the way of holding the leashes of the Saarebas. The Qunari equivalent of a Templar.  
>  **Tama** = Short for Tamassran; "Those who speak." A priestess who is charged with educating the young, interviewing captives, and assigning Qunari their roles within society. Exclusively a role for women.  
>  **Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun** = The tide rises, the tide falls, and the sea is unchanged. An Arvaarad training chant.  
>  **Saarebas** = "Dangerous thing;" a Qunari Mage.


	3. The Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah and Iron Bull start to get to know one another a little better... only to loose whatever ground they had gained after Herah reveals yet another secret.

By the time the Iron Bull found Herah, she was already into her third glass of Mackay’s Epic Single Malt, the Inquisitor seated alone at a table, the rest of the tavern patrons giving her a wide berth, no doubt able to tell she was in a foul mood. Even Sera was keeping her distance, the elf archer watching Herah as she pounded back glass after glass with a look that could only be describes as fearful admiration. Herah made no secret of her mood, audibly growling low when she saw Bull step into the tavern. “Leave me alone!” she snarled, her words deep and guttural, her eyes blazing embers.

Iron Bull blanched at first, almost feeling guilty. Damn, she was _really_ upset with him, wasn’t she? It’d been a while since he’d seen a Qunari woman look at him with such rage. Memories of his youth flooded his head, and for a moment Bull had to collect himself. The last Qunari female that had looked at him in such a way had been one of his Tamassrans… the one who’d taught him… _things_ … and to see the look again… made him feel things he did not expect to feel. _Arousal._ But why?

It was her mouth, he realized. He liked the way she flashed her teeth at him as she glared. _He wanted taste her… and feel those teeth on him._

Bull quickly quashed that feeling, knowing that it would just lead up to him getting stabbed. Herah wasn’t Qunari. She was Vashoth. She didn’t grow up under the Qun, like he did. She wouldn’t understand the concept of sex being a simple act, devoid of emotion or attachment. Besides his orders had been very clear; to get close to the Inquisitor and to work her so that she’d form an alliance with the Ben-Hassrath. But in order to accomplish that he’d have to get her to trust him… something he’d been failing at abysmally.

Bull lifted his hands in surrender, spreading his fingers wide. “Hey, whoa. Easy!” he said carefully, watching her hands, seeing that one had already reached down for one of her daggers, Iron Bull careful to not react, knowing that she was simply reacting out of habit. Girl was a two-handed rogue after all, and a damn good one. “I just wanted to apologize. That’s all.”

Herah glared at the massive Qunari that stood at the door of the tavern, one hand gripping her mug, the other just inches from her dagger. Then, after a moment, she grunted ascent and turned away, glaring into her malt whiskey. She didn’t look up when Iron Bull sat down next to her, nor did she say anything when she heard the bench creak and groan under them. No doubt it wasn’t made to hold two full grown Qunari. Yet another failing of the place. One of many.

Herah grumbled several colorful Elvish curse words under her breath, causing Sera to snort with mirth, and downed her glass with a growl. A part of her really, really, REALLY wanted to throw her mug at him. But she didn’t. Because she was the Herald of Andraste or whatever, damn it! And besides… she was too tired of hearing Josephine complain about her harming the locals. Refilling her glass, Herah took a sip, and gave Bull an irritated glower. “Well? I’m waiting.” she barked.

Bull inhaled and mentally counted to five. Egh. _Women_. “I invaded your privacy, when I asked you about that chant… and it wasn’t my place to do so. I shouldn’t have pushed it so far.” He said carefully. _“Itwasit.”_ Bull then murmured, using the Qunari word for “falls,” which was the Qunari equivalent of ‘I’m sorry.’

Herah inhaled a long breath. Then she sighed and nodded. _“Parshaara.”_ she grunted back. “You’re not completely to blame. I should have been more careful.” she admitted. Then she sighed and reached for the bottle she was drinking from, also grabbing another mug, the Vashoth rogue wordlessly pouring him glass before giving it a clink.

Iron Bull almost let out a laugh. So easily mollified, was she? Or was she just tired? Still, he didn’t waste time, and simply raised his glass in return. _“Stel brak!”_ he said before giving the contents of his mug a swallow, the smooth burn sending shivers down his spine. What was this shit?!

For a moment, the two Qunari simply sat there, Herah’s gaze faraway, the Iron Bull watching her. When she turned to glance at him, she blinked, not expecting to be under such scrutiny. “What?” she growled.

Bull shrugged. “So… your father was an arvaarad?”

Herah nodded once. “Yes… and my mother was a saarebas. _His_ saarebas.”

“How’d they come to leaving the Qun?” he asked, curious.

Herah sighed. “It started when they were children. They knew each other ever since they were young. Grew up in the same… um, class? Group?”

“ _Kith_.” Bull supplied.

“Yes, that.” Herah said, nodding in thanks. “My father found out that my mother had magic when they were very young. Saw her use it to make some plant grow… He tried to help her hide it… and for a while it worked… but eventually the Tamassrans found out, and she was made saarebas…” she explained, then falling silent, memories welling up.

Herah never did like thinking about her parent’s lives back when they’d been part of the Qun. Her mother… was possibly the gentlest, kindest person she’d ever met. She wasn’t the deadly weapon the Qun had tried to make her be… Every time Herah saw the scars on her mother’s hands and lips, where her hands had been chained and her lips sewn together… it curdled her blood and made her hate the Qun all the more. To have done that to her mother, this gentle, kind soul… was monstrous.

“And so, to protect your mother, he became her arvaarad?” Bull asked.

Herah nodded again. “Yes. He was afraid what would happen to her, if he wasn’t the one holding her leash… he didn’t want her to end up like the others…” she murmured, falling silent, her bright amber eyes clouded.

Bull said nothing to that, knowing what she meant. Most saarebas end up with their mouths stitched closed. If they revolted against their arvaarad, then their tongues were then cut out and they lived their lives chained, their minds and spirits broken. It was a pathetic existence, to be sure, but necessary. There was no Rite of Tranquility in the Qun. If a saarebas proved to be a danger or was too difficult to control, they were often killed by their own arvaarad… “So what happened?” he asked ask he took a heavy swallow from his mug, then smacking his lips. Shit was… good? He wasn’t sure if he liked it yet.

Herah refilled her glass, then his, her amber eyes never meeting him. “They were sent to Seheron to hunt down Tevinters and Tal-Vashoth… but when Da tried to get Mum to kill… she rebelled… she couldn’t do it… And he couldn’t make himself use the _karasaam_ on her… so he did the only thing he could do. He freed her and they fled.”

For several minutes the two simply sat there, neither daring saying a word. Bull had heard of arvaarad feeling pity for their saarebas. Indeed all Qunari both pity and honor the sacrifice the saarebas must make to the Qun… but he’d never heard of an arvaarad having the nerve to free his charge. The story must have been buried by the Ariqun. But to let a saarebas live free? That was dangerous. What about the risk of demons?

“And now?” he asked. “What of your parents now?”

At that Herah smiled, finding it easier to talk about her parents following leaving Seheron. “After they left the Qun, Da and Mum made their way south to Antiva, but soon had to leave thanks to how the Antivans feel about Qunari. I was born in Kirkwall, actually. We lived there for a few years, but we eventually ended up having to leave, thanks to some Arishok arriving. Now they live in a village in the Free Marches, near Starkhaven. Da became a blacksmith, using what he learned to eventually open his own forge. Then he bought a mine a few years ago. Now he designs weapons and armor for the Vael family and sells weapons all over the Free Marches. He’s even sent some weapons here.” Herah remarked, reaching down to take out one of her daggers. “These were made by him. See? You can see our family name etched into the hilt. _Adaar_. ” she said with a small amount of pride, Iron Bull giving it a closer look, blinking, his appraising eye able to see the detail that went into the blade. It was a well-crafted dagger

“May I?” he asked, holding out a massive left hand.

Herah gave his hand a slow and careful study. Maker’s breath. His hand was massive. Easily larger then hers. Larger then even her father’s. It was also covered in scars, some faint, some fresh, Herah blinking when she realized he was missing several finger joints on his left hand. It was a hand crafted and made by war. Something she understood and shared. She couldn't make a circle with her thumb and index finger any more on her right hand because it had been broken too many times. Finally, Herah nodded reached forward, and handed Bull her dagger, her fingers faintly brushing his palm. And just like that she felt it. The rush of tingling nerves set alight. Herah felt herself freeze for a moment, both surprised and confused by what that meant. Desperate for some sort of distraction Herah quickly turned away and stared into her drink, letting Bull study the dagger more closely.

**_What the hell was that?!_ **

Bull had noticed how Herah had frozen when her finger lightly touched his hand, and privately wondered about it. But he decided not to make anything of it, amused despite himself. Was she blushing? Instead Bull gave the dagger a twirl, then holding it up, balancing it on the tip of his fingers, his eye narrowing. “It’s a fine blade. Has a good balance to it.” He remarked, handing it back, Herah taking it back wordlessly, the rogue careful not touch him this time. “And your mother?”

Herah sipped from her mug. “Well technically she’s an apostate now… but she doesn’t use magic much anymore… not since… well, not for a while. Mum’s a healer now. She’s an especially good midwife.” Then Herah grinned. “That’s why I kept grabbing herbs on our way back to Haven. Mum always said you can never have too much eflroot.”

Bull smiled. “I saw that. Also saw you grabbing iron. You worked in the mine?”

Herah shrugged. “When I’m home. Da taught me how to read stone and identify good metals, so I know the basics… but I’m no blacksmith. Last time I tried making my own, it broke in half the day after I forged it. Still, can’t get rid of the habit of grabbing any herbs and metals I see…”

Herah was about to say more, when she heard something from the back of the inn. Raised voices? Herah turned her head, Iron Bull doing the same. The group of hunters from the other day were there again, and this time they’d had enough drink to get rowdy. Now apparently, they were arguing on how to split their bill. Herah was about to get to her feet and break it up, when suddenly bodies exploded into action around her, Herah gasping when two hunters crashed into one another, each trying very hard to beat and swear harsher and louder than the other.

_“Shoddy piece of crap!”_

_“Thrice-cursed whorespawn!”_

_“Maker-forsaken piece of—”_

“Oh for fucks sake.” Herah growled as she rolled her eyes and got to her feet, Bull doing the same, the two Qunari towering over everyone there, then cursed when an all-out tavern brawl suddenly broke out around them. Herah then gasped, feeling someone behind her punch her on the back, Herah wincing before spinning around, and glared at the idiot guardsman that had drunkenly slugged her, Herah glaring at him, Herah watching as he looked up at her and blanched, clearly having misjudged his mark.

“Uh! Sorry mistress!” then he promptly turned around and fled.

Bull chuckled next to her. “Shall we?” he asked, and with that the massive Qunari charged into the fray, Herah hearing him laugh as he then proceeded to beat the crap out of the brawlers. Herah sighing in resignation before joining in. It was over fast. By the time Cullen showed up with several guards to break it up, the bar fight was over.

Herah and Bull stood in the center of the tavern, back to back, both panting, Herah calmly clenching one hunter, one long arm around his throat, her vice-like grip swiftly rendering him unconscious, Bull chuckling as he wiped the blood off his knuckles, pausing only to deliver a kick to one brawler who had tried to stand, Herah wincing, hearing his nose go _CRUNCH!_

Cullen looked at the devastation with wide blue eyes, before turning to the two Qunari, watching as Herah shoved the unconscious hunter away. “Maker’s breath! Are you two alright?”

Herah let out a laugh, her eyes going to Bull’s the two sharing a playful grin. “We’re fine Cullen.” Herah replied with a savage grin. “Never better.”

 

* * *

 

Starting then, Herah felt more comfortable around Iron Bull, the two Qunari settling into an somewhat easy understanding of one another. They were both mercenaries, and despite Herah’s change in station, they had some common ground to build on. After all, violence was something they both understood all too well, and now that they understood one another, Herah felt more at ease around the large warrior, enough to say that she could start to learn how to trust him.

The following day the Herah woke early, packed up her belongings and prepared to set out, having been requested to meet with the Grand Enchanter in Redcliff. Despite her earlier misgivings, Herah decided to bring Iron Bull. Although she trusted Blackwall, she also knew that she needed to give Bull a chance to prove himself. Having already told Solas and Varric to get ready, Herah then made where way to the stables to let Bull know he was to join her, Herah walking over to his tent. “Bull? You awake?” she called, hearing snores echo from the tent.

Ugh. Men.

“Bull! Come on! Wake up!” Herah snapped, ducking her head into the tent, only to gape, finding quite a sight. Bull, asleep, in the nude, with what looked like three serving girls, also nude, wrapped around his long, massive frame. “Oh! Fuck!” Herah yelped, stumbling back, blinking her eyes repeatedly, trying desperately to wash the memory of what she just saw. And failed miserably. That back? With the tattoos crawling all over his massive frame. Seared into her brain. _Forever_. Herah closed her eyes, struggling. _Want_. She wanted to see more of him. _Shit_.

 Desperate to put some distance between her and what she’d seen, Herah rushed to find Varric. Better to send the dwarf from now on. He always was looking for inspiration for his stories, right? Well, that had certainly been inspirational to see!

 

* * *

 

They were a day out of Haven, en route to Redcliff, crossing the Hinterlands, when an Inquisition rider rode up to Herah and the others, his face set in a state of panic. “Herald!” the rider yelled, racing towards her, Herah, bringing her own horse to a stop. _Egh. **Now what?!**_ Sighing in resignation, Herah stopped and waited for the rider to reach her, Herah also signaling the others to come to a stop.

The rider raced to her side, his horse breathing hard. “Herald! Rebel mages are attacking the Crossroads. Mother Giselle sent me to find you, beggin’ your aid!”

Herah frowned, confused. “Mother Giselle was in Haven. What is she doing at the Crossroads?” she asked.

“Word had reached Haven of the arrival of more refugees, so Mother Giselle wished to go to the Crossroads to help escort them to Haven, but she and the guards that were to escort her were delayed.” The rider replied. Then he looked into her eyes, his full of fear and desperation. “Please hurry! They’re getting slaughtered!”

Egh _. Shit._

Herah glanced back at her others, her mind racing. They were close enough to the Crossroads, but Herah knew better than to just charge in blindly. Mages had a nasty habit of using their magic to set people on fire. Or worse. “Where are the refugees?” she asked.

“Close to the hunter’s hut.” The rider replied.

Herah nodded, thinking back to the last time she’d been in the Crossroads. The hunter’s hut had been close to the edge of the woods. It might be possible to circle back to the hut, but they’d have to play this right… Herah turned to look at the others, a plan forming. They needed something to draw the mages away from the hut and the refugees… And Herah smiled. Oh, this was going to be fun. “Bull. Have you ever been to the Crossroads?” she asked hurriedly.

Iron Bull frowned, no doubt able to see where she was going with this. “Yes. My Chargers and I stopped there a few weeks ago, while on our way to the Storm Coast.” he replied.

Herah nodded in approval. “Good. You, Varric and Solas circle around the Crossroads camp and get the refugees out. I’ll attack from the other side of the camp, distracting the mages.”

The Iron Bull scowled. “Send the dwarf and the elf to circle around, but I will stay with you. You’ll need more muscle to break through those mages.” Then he lifted his hands and did a little spin, flexing his back, his muscles rippling. “And muscle I got. In spades.” he said then, flashing teeth.

 _Oh sweet Maker, the man was intolerable._ Herah bit her lower lip, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as well as stare, hating the fact that her eyes lingered on his muscled form for a few moments, remembering the tattoos she’d seen, which were gone now thanks to the vitaar he now wore… which she privately wished he wouldn’t… In the end however, Herah just nodded wordlessly, turning to give Varric and Solas their instructions. They were to place themselves in an elevated location and attack from a distance while she and Bull were going to attack the mages head on. Herah watched as the archer and the mage moved to the back to pick their spots. Herah then turned towards the Qunari mercenary, her face set in a scowl. Bull gave his war ax a few practice swipes, the massive weapon whistling through the air, Herah mentally wincing, already feeling sorry for the poor mages that had been stupid enough to attack the Crossroads. They were going to pay for that. She would see to it personally.

“Let’s go.” she said, reaching back for her daggers, giving each a practice twirl, Herah warming up her muscles, Herah also taking a moment to apply poison to both of her blades before turning to head towards the camp. “I’ll go in first, sneak into their ranks.” Bull nodded, his face turning grim. And with a plan in place, Herah led the Qunari towards the camp, calling upon her ability to slip into shadow, Herah almost disappearing from sight, Herah seeing Bull blink, the larger man no doubt not used to seeing a large Qunari just vanish into thin air, this causing her to smile to herself. _Typical._

Moving a silent as a whisper, Herah snuck into the camp. It did not take her long to reach the camp, Herah and the others finding a dire situation indeed. The mages were indeed attacking, Herah counting five spellcasters, two elven, the other three human, the mages casting spell after spell against the refugees, who were using a wall to shield them, the wall already set ablaze and starting to crumble.

Herah clenched her teeth, struggling to not let her anger get the best of her, the Qunari racing to reach the mages, slipping past trees, a silent hurricane, gripping her blades while her eyes blazed with savage intent. _Damn bas-saarebas._ She would make them bleed rivers before the day was done.

Their attack was fast. One moment the mages were blasting at the hunter’s hut. The next moment Herah and Bull were charging into them, cutting them down. And the screams? Music to her ears. As one mage gurgled, his guts spilling into the floor, Herah tried her best to not grin in glee, cutting him deep, her heart pounding… Herah feeling it… The red haze… take over. Over and over she cut, drawing blood, Herah dancing around the mages, a typhoon of death, Herah screaming out her rage, memories welling up as she continued stabbing, cutting, drawing blood… Her mother’s scars… Her brother… Screaming… demons falling on him like rain drops… his blood curdling scream… Cut. Cut. CUT. No more hurt. No more pain. No more death. NO. MORE!

_“Boss! Stop! **BOSS!** ”_

And that was when a massive hand slammed into her temple, and Herah let out a pained grunt, stumbling, blinking, the world a spinning red mess. What? What just happened? Where was she?

Hera blinked, and felt the world return, her vision swimming. Blinking her amber eyes, Herah glanced around, reality sinking in. Her hands were shaking, her tight grip on her daggers suddenly wavering, Herah watching as the slipped to the floor, Herah looking down at them dumbly aware that she was covered in blood. And not of it was hers.

All of the mages were dead. And the one she’d had just killed. She’d been stabbing his head. Repeatedly. For what looked like a while. While Varric and Solas had looked on, with a look she could only describe as horror.

Herah stumbled and fell to her knees, panting. Shit. It’d happened again. She’d seen Red. Shit.

Blinking, she looked up as someone stepped into her view, Herah looking up, and watched as Iron Bull slowly leaned down so that they were eye level, his one sea grey eye burning into her. “How long?” he asked softly.

Herah struggled to find her voice. It felt like she was waking up from a deep sleep. Her brain felt like it was made of mush and her tongue felt fat in her mouth. Come on mouth! Make words! “How… long… wha?” she asked.

Bull reached into his pack and pulled out a water skin, and without a word took it and splashed her with it, Herah gasping as if struck, the cold of the water a shock. Sputtering and gasping, she shook the water from her face, coughing. But she then nodded her thanks, knowing that it needed to be done.

 _“How long have you been seeing the Red?”_ Bull asked her again, Herah realizing that he switched to Qunlat.

Herah groaned, reaching up to wipe the water off her face. “A few years now.” She replied in Common. Her Qunlat wasn’t good enough to speak it with that much fluency… especially now, with her thoughts still sorting themselves out.

Bull grunted and straightened, saying nothing. Instead he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet, Herah needing a moment before she could stand up straight, suddenly feeling tired, like she hadn’t slept in days.

“What was that?” she heard Varric ask.

“The Red. It’s something that sometimes happens to us… whenever we don’t focus and let the fever of battle take over…sort of like a Reaver’s blood frenzy…” Bull explained hastily, clearly feeling like he was saying something he didn’t want to say. “There is something about us… especially those who don’t have the training of that comes with the Qun… we sometimes loose ourselves… and just let the Red voice take over…” Iron Bull then shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

Herah said nothing, having to admit that he explained it just fine. Because that was exactly how it had felt. Like she had lost herself.

“Did I hurt anyone?” she asked lamely.

“Just the mages.” Solas said with a weak smile, Herah looking back at the bodies, wincing, noticing how a lot of them looked… dismembered. Shit.

Herah shook her head, relieved. “Good.”

“You’ve hurt people before?” Varric asked, Herah hearing it. The fear. He was afraid of her now. And it broke her heart.

Herah shrugged, trying to play at nonchalance… and failed miserably. “Once… I accidentally killed someone that used to be part of the Valo-Kas… but he deserved it. Trust me.” Herah said with a grimace, remembering Korrath. Oh he deserved it all right. She then glanced at Iron Bull, and blushed. “It’s been nearly a year since that happened… usually I can control it…”

Iron Bull said nothing, his gaze unreadable and his features set in a cold grimace. And Herah knew that things had just gone from bad… to worse. So, she did the only thing she could do… she grabbed her weapons and headed back to the horses, seeing that Inquisition soldiers were riding up, suddenly feeling something she hadn’t expected. Shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> **  
> TRANSLATIONS:  
>   
> 
>  
> 
>  **saarebas** = "Dangerous thing;" the Qunari word and title for their mages. A "bas saarebas" denotes a non-Qunari mage.  
>  **arvaarad** = "One who holds back evil;" a Qunari who watches over the saarebas (Qunari mages) and hunts Tal-Vashoth.  
>  **kith** = A small military unit, comparable to a squad or company.  
>  **Itwasit** = "Falls." the Qunari equivilant for "I am sorry."  
>  **parshaara** = "Enough," or "Stop." Can also be used as a reply for Itwasit.  
>  **Stel brak!** = the qunlat version of "Cheers!"


	4. The Ties that Bind Us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah returns to Haven feeling confused and forlorn... then the Iron Bull shows up and does the unexpected. He gives her a reason to push forward... after making some startling revelations about herself.

The journey to Redcliff turned out to be a nightmare stuck inside of a nightmare. Not only did she now have to figure out what to do about Magister Gereon Alexius, but she also had to deal with what that mage, Dorian, had said. Time magic?! Oh sure, let’s just add **_that_** mess to the already ginormous pile of shit she already had to deal with. Because she didn’t have enough problems, right? Oh no. She just had to figure out why the hell there was a giant hole in the sky that felt like spitting out demons, that’s all! No problem right?!

They had just returned to Haven, having left things still unsolved and undecided. It was early evening, close to sundown, and Herah still had a meeting with her advisors later that night. Word had arrived that some nobles were willing to meet with her at the Great Hall of Therinfal Redoubt, the Templar stronghold, and speak with the Templars on her behalf. So it looked like she would soon have to decide on which side she’d ally herself too; the templars or the mages? Problem one-hundred-and-eighty-one on her list of shitty problems she had to solve… or so it felt like. Let’s not even get started on her issues with basically terrorizing Solas and Varric… or the fact that Iron Bull hadn’t said two words to her since Redcliff.

Herah let out a frustrated snarl, and kicked at a rock that had blocked her path, Herah watching it as it soared off into the field she was walking by, the rogue on her way to the frozen lake, feeling the need to be alone. _Maker’s balls!_ She must have died and gone to hell. There was no other explanation. It was either that or the Maker **_HATED_** her, and felt as if she needed to be punished for past wrongs.

Reaching the lake, Herah made her way to the dock, and sat down, wanting, no, _needing_ , a chance to think. But now that she was finally alone, all Herah could think about was the looks Varric and Solas had given her when she saw Red. Maker, they’d looked at her with such… _fear_ …

Herah groaned and buried her face into her hands, hating herself. The last time that had happened, she ended up killing Korrath. Shoved a knife right into his eye… before she ripped it out, and proceeded to cut him down to pieces. Shokrakar had to literally pull her off and hit her before she finally came around. But she wouldn’t change a thing. Korrath _needed_ to die. He’d gone too far. She’d suffered at his hands one time too many.

Pulling her hands back, Herah looked down at them, the Mark aglow, her eyes going from the blazing green anchor to the multitude of small, thin scars that dotted her fingers. They’d come from her lessons, when her father had started to teach her how to fight…

She’d been eight years old when got her first dagger scar. She remembered it like it was yesterday. The daggers had difficulty fitting into her small hands back then. She’d looked down at them as they rested in her tiny hands, looking like they didn’t belong there, studying them. She remembered the brown leather strappings that covered the obsidian hilts, her eyes noticing the quality of the blades, the craftsmanship. They’d been her father’s blades, his creation, and he had made them just for her. So, she could kill people.

And it was all thanks to her brother… _Kaaras_ …

“It’s happening, Herah,” her father had said after he had handed her the daggers. “Your brother… his abilities are starting to show. Soon your mother won’t be able to hide it from the rest of the town…”

Herah struggled to hold the daggers right. They were so heavy! Then she yelped, feeling a slight prick on her fingers. Apparently she’d gripped the left dagger wrong, and the dagger’s guard had cut her. Blood welled up and dripped to the floor… but Herah’s father said nothing, watching impassively. Herah knew he wanted her to learn, so she corrected the grip, careful to not show pain. “Can’t you just tell him to stop using his magic, Da? He might listen to you …” Herah had asked, her voice sound oh so small.

Herah’s father leaned down, oh so tall and oh so strong, a mountain compared to her tiny frame. Herah had always loved her father. Although she looked like her mother… it was her father that she adored. “Herah… I think we both know that won’t happen” he said softly, his deep voice cracking, the pain evident on his wide, handsome features.

And it was at that moment that Herah’s childhood ended. From that day on, her father worked her, training with her every day, first on how to hold the daggers, then on how use them. He started small, with simple things. Cut this apple. Dice this onion. Debone this fish or chicken. And every time she made a mistake, her hands would pay the price. She’d lost count of the times she accidently cut herself with the massive blades. Once she almost lost a pinky, while trying to peel a grape. Then her father started to make it harder and harder on her. Slaughter this goat. Kill and skin that wolf. And finally, one day, when she was just fourteen, she had to kill her first person. And the first person turned out to be her very own twin brother, Kaaras.

Her life was never the same again.

Herah opened her amber eyes, blinking back fresh tears, the memory still fresh despite the fact that a more than a decade had passed, her gaze landing on the frozen lake in front of her… the possibilities that it presented suddenly oh so very present… and oh so tempting as well. It’d be so easy… just strap some big rocks to her legs… and just… step forward. No more problems. No more Herald of Andraste. No more Inquisition. No more pain. No more… **_anything_** …

“Boss?” a voice called out, the voice breaking up her thoughts, the voice her lifeline.

Herah closed her eyes, and actually felt a weak laugh escape her lips. The Iron Bull. Of course it was him. Of all the people that could join her, of course it had to be him. “Figures.” she muttered.

Turning, Herah looked over her shoulder at the large, mountain of a man, watching as the imposing figure that he was make his way towards her, her heart feeling as if it was ripping in two, Herah saying nothing as the Iron Bull walked down to the dock, Herah still saying nothing when he sat down next to her, Herah blinking at the instant warmth that seemed to exude from the reaver, the two giants settling into a somewhat uncomfortable silence. _Qunari always ran hot,_ Herah thought to herself. She’d lost count of the times humans would scuttle closer to her when they were cold. Now he was doing the same for her.

“So…” Iron Bull started, his tone almost… careful, as if he could tell just how close she was to breaking, his voice strangely soothing, a balm to the hurt. Which just confused her all the more.

“So.” Herah replied carefully, staring out at the frozen lake, her mind going back to its previous thoughts. Maybe wait until he left. Then get those rocks she’d been thinking about. It wasn’t like anyone would really miss her, right?

“It’s called the _Armaas-Shok_.” Iron Bull said carefully next to her after a moment, Herah blinking at the unfamiliar word. She knew what _shok_ meant. It meant ‘war’ or ‘battle,’ in Qunlat. But _armaas_? She didn’t recognize the word. Seeing her doubt, Iron Bull continued. “ _Armass_ is an ancient Qunari word for ‘soul.’ Keep in mind that we don’t exactly have a word for a person’s ‘individual’ soul…”

“Because Qunari don’t believe in individual rights. You think of everyone as part of a whole, a part of the Qun. Yes, I’ve been told this before by other ‘true’ Qunari. **_Repeatedly_**.” Herah finished bitterly, making quotation marks with her fingers, this getting a noncommittal grunt from Bull, Herah then sighing, seeing that no matter what she was going to have to talk about this. Egh. Might as well. “So the Qunari believe that the Red, or _armaas-shok_ , is a battle for one’s soul?”

“In a sense,” Bull replied evenly. “But it goes deeper than that…”

Herah tilted her head to the side, now confused. “How so?”

Iron Bull groaned, looking conflicted, as if trying to find the words. “Well, it’s not easy to explain…” He then groaned. “My _tama_ said that we, true Qunari, as followers of the Qun, don’t just follow the Qun blindly. We follow it because without the Qun we would give into our baser selves. And our baser selves are…”

“Tal-Vashoth. Savages.” Herah supplied, an edge to her voice, once again looking for something that will get underneath his skin… because of reasons?

Iron Bull sighed and gave her an exasperated look, arching a brow. “You want to hear this or do you want to argue, Boss? Because I can do both.” he asked her plainly.

 _Ugh. No fun at all_. “Fine. Go on.” Herah grumbled.

“Qunari have always had… problems… with handling our emotions, especially when in battle. There is something about us that just seems to have some sense of wildness. We lose ourselves to the hum of battle. That’s what the Qun gives us. A form of control against the chaos. When an individual understands and accepts that they are not truly an ‘individual,’ but part of the whole, it gives us what we need to fight against the Armaas-Shok. But for Tal-Vashoth like your parents, or Vashoth like you, there is no Qun. There is no control. So you, and others like you, have to find that control without the Qun… and often times, most fail.”

“And then they do the things that they do in Seheron…” Herah said with a frown, remembering the stories her mother had told her of the wild, ‘free’ Qunari. She knew what kind of Tal-Vashoth Iron Bull was referring too, having worked with a few in the past years as a mercenary. Even though her parents had abandoned the Qun, Herah couldn’t help but feel grateful that they still used their training to maintain discipline throughout her childhood. Maker knows how many were not so lucky. Tal-Vashoths were feared throughout Thedas, and for good reason. An undisciplined Tal-Vashoth was often a deadly force to be reckoned with, prone to losing control and resorting to violence, destruction, assault, and other vices, such as drugs or alcohol.

“I’m glad you’re not one of them, boss.” Iron Bull admitted softly, his gaze on the frozen lake. “Seheron was… bad.” Iron Bull said, falling silent, Herah saying nothing, remembering what he had told her about his time in Seheron when they’d first spoken it a few days ago, Herah blushing at the memory, remembering the light flirting that had taken place then. Ugh. What’d she’d been thinking?!

“So… how do Qunari deal with _armaas-shok_?”

Iron Bull shrugged, as if he was literally shaking off the stress of the memories that had been brought up. “Well, they do what any army would do. They train. Stress management. Relaxation techniques. Behavior modification methods. That kind of thing.” Then he turned to give her a savage grin. “I could teach you, you know… if you’re up to trusting a ‘true’ Qunari.” he added with a wink, mimicking her quotation marks.

Herah let out a laugh. “Whoa, that didn’t take long! Has that been your plan this entire time? Get me to ‘embrace the Qun?’” Herah asked, wiggling her eyebrows. _Prepare to be disappointed._

Bull let out a loud laugh, his voice echoing across the lake. “What? You?! Join the Qun? Hell no!” Bull said with a laugh. Then he became more serious, turning to look at her with a careful look. “No offense boss, but you’d make a **_terrible_ ** Qunari.”

Herah laughed. “Oh, is that so? And why do you say that?” she asked teasingly, still smiling. _This should be good_ , Herah thought to herself, fully expecting Bull to say something rude.

But the look that Bull gave her? Spoke volumes… of a different sort sentiment. _Oh shit_. “It’s that mouth of yours.” he said with a devilish grin, the heat and intonation almost tangible, and Herah felt her blood suddenly warm as Bull looked down at her mouth with an almost ravenous vigor.

“What about my mouth?” Herah asked him, feeling herself drown into that gaze of his.

Bull smirked at her, leaning in close, his voice dropping into a whisper, as if he were telling her a secret. “It says what it wants, does what it wants. It’d… problematic… in the Qun.”

Herah felt her face heat up, feeling herself start to inch even closer to him, her earlier melancholy long forgotten. Which Herah was starting to think was intentional on Bull’s part. He’d come here to talk to her about what had happened at the Crosswords. He wanted her to move on from that. Wanted her distracted. Not that she cared. She needed this. Anything to distract her from the shitty reality she had to live… anything to forget… what was… “Problematic, huh?” she said, echoing his tone, her heart stating to pound. _Want_ , it whispered to her.

“Yes.” Iron Bull growled, and Herah almost laughed, seeing it there. The stark frustration. Apparently, Bull didn’t like her having an opinion about things. So sad. “It’s… frustrating.”

Herah chuckled. “I’m sure it is.” she murmured before turning away to stare out into the lake, and felt herself sigh.

The moment was gone, wasn’t it? Shame. It’d been fun. Bull was the only person in Haven except for Sara that didn’t seem too afraid to mind flirting with her… and Sara just made her feel like she was some… kinky sex giant. To see a male, even a Ben-Hassrath, reciprocate in such a way was a rare treat. No one else dared to flirt with her. Well, Blackwall did once, but he wasn’t exactly her type. Too broody. Maker forbid she got in the way of someone’s self-loathing. Everyone else, from Cullen to Varric were just too afraid of her. Unfortunately.

“My parents had told me as much.” Herah admitted then, wanting to change the subject.

“The Qun isn’t exactly open to… free thinkers…” Iron Bull muttered, his gaze also going to the lake, the heat in his gaze gone now, gone as quickly as it came. And Herah was surprised that she felt the loss.

“And the re-educators would have had a hard time with someone… so stubborn.” Herah replied with a sad smile, this comment getting a grunt. “So, you think you can help me? Control the _armaas-shok,_ I mean?” Herah asked.

“Couldn’t hurt to try.” Bull replied with a smile. “Can’t have the esteemed Herald of Andraste giving into some evil Qunari blood rage. That just wouldn’t be proper.” Bull said, chuckling at the strangling sound she made to his joke, Herah making a face.

“Ugh. Just ugh.” Herah moaned. “No matter how many times I hear it, every time it still gives me the heebie-jeebies. _Me_ , the Herald of Andraste? Maker’s balls…” Herah groaned dejectedly, this getting a chuckle. Then Herah looked up at him, and gave Bull a look, suddenly suspicious. “Was that all?” she asked carefully.

“Oh. No. Cullen had a letter for you. Some report you’d asked for? Asked me to give it to you.” Bull said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a letter before handing it to her.

Herah made a show of looking over the wax seal, Herah then arching a brow at Bull.

“I didn’t read it, boss.” Bull said, now sounding annoyed.

“Sure, you didn’t.” Herah said with a chuckle, clearly not believing him for a second, and ripped open the seal, her amber eyes reading over the words, recognizing Cullen’s messy scrawl, her face darkening with every word she read.

“Bad news?” Bull asked curiously.

Herah gave Bull another dark look, not believing his innocent inquisitiveness and closed the letter. “I asked my advisors to send scouts to look for my mercenary group, the Valo-Kas. They’d been missing since the breach destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cullen’s soldiers had found them. Apparently, they’re hold up in some abandoned keep near Gherlen’s Pass, and it’s being ransacked by demons. Cullen wants to help them, but he’s afraid to lose more men… I’d go and handle it myself… but I’m also needed elsewhere… The Templars and the mages need to be dealt with…” she said falling silent, as a harsh agony settled over her heart. The letter said that the Valo-Kas were alive… but she knew that time was quickly running out. No way they could keep up the fight forever… without help, they were going to die. Herah grimaced. They were _her_ people. She loved them all. They’d become her family after she left the Free Marches. Maker… her people were _dying_! Was she seriously going to let that happen?! No. She couldn’t.

“Why don’t I send the Chargers to help your mercenary group? They can handle the demons, and escort the Valo-Kas here.”

Herah blinked, and turned to look up at Iron Bull, her amber eyes wide. “You’d be okay with sending your people to Gherlen’s Pass?”

Bull smiled jovially. “Sure Boss. They’re getting paid, right? Might as well make them earn it.”

Herah couldn’t help it. A smile as bright as the sun flashed, and she felt it. Tears. The Valo-Kas would be okay! “Thank you, Bull!”

Iron Bull gave her shoulder a gentle pat. “Sure boss. I’ll go tell them. If they leave tonight, they should reach Gherlen’s Pass within two days.” And with that the giant of a man left her, Herah watching him as he headed back to the gate, her eyes wide.

Holy shit. Did that just happen?! Did he just help her people? A Tal-Vashoth hating Qun follower? Yes. Apparently so.

 

* * *

 

Herah stood in the meeting room, her eyes glaring down at the two tokens set upon the map, her mind a tumble weed set in the wind, while her advisors watched her with wary fascination, Cullen looking like he was about to have a seizure. Herah sighed, hating the scrutiny. “So, it can’t be helped?” she asked while carefully trying not to look Cullen in the eyes. “I can’t choose both?”

“Unfortunately, no Herald.” Liliana replied while fighting a smirk, clearly loving every minute of Cullen’s struggle to refrain from defending the Templar’s for the hundredth time. “Our forces are limited. We need the support of both, but we can only afford to aid one of the factions; the Mages or the Templars?”

Herah crossed her arms across her chest, still not meeting Cullen’s eyes. He looked at her with such… desperation. Maker, did she hate this shit. Being in charge was awful.

“Cullen… how many Templars would come to our aid, if we agree to go to Therinfal Redoubt?” she asked carefully.

“Around five hundred.” Cullen replied, matching her tone.

“And how many mages does Fiona have with her in Redcliff?” Herah asked Liliana.

“Nearly four hundred…” Liliana began, her tone careful. “But remember, they are all accomplished and trained mages, and have far more experience than most of the Templars stationed at Therinfal. The majority of Lord Seeker Lucius Corin’s men are recent conscripts, since the majority of the trained templars have been taking part in the mage rebellions. Therefore, the bulk of his Templars are new to the Order.” She said, this getting a sour look from Cassandra.

“But they know how to fight magic?” Herah pressed her spymaster.

Liliana nodded once. “Yes, Herald.”

Herah looked back at the map, her amber eyes narrowing in thought. Then, after a moment of silent contemplation Herah looked up, and finally dared to meet Cullen’s gaze. “If we don’t help the Templars, then it probably means the end of the Templar Order, doesn’t it?” Herah asked the man.

Cullen nodded slowly, and Herah could sense it. The pain. The emotion. This was important to the man. “Yes, Herald.” he murmured softly. “I believe it does. The Templars at Therinfal are the last Templars who have managed to not fall into chaos and ruin of the mage rebellion.”

Herah sighed and nodded in response. “Then it looks like we’re going to be helping the Templars.” she replied, this causing Cullen to let out a grateful gasp, Herah holding up a hand before he could start thanking her. “Don’t Cullen. Do not thank me. I didn’t decide to help them lightly. To be honest, I don’t trust Curin… and I think that the mages deserve our support far more than the Templars do… But there is only one Templar order. There will always be mages.” she said with finality, this getting nods of agreement from Cassandra and Josephine. Herah then sighed. “Liliana. Please send your best agents to Redcliff. And send Viviane along with them. She keeps making a fuss about all the pull she has. Time to put it to use. Tell them to find Dorian and Fiona. Maybe he can convince Fiona to bring the mages here, without alerting Magister Alexius. And also send word to King Alistair Theirin. It’s his town that being usurped by a Tevinter Magister. I’m sure he would have some thoughts on that.” Herah finished.

Liliana gave Herah a simple bow. “As you wish.” she murmured before slipping out of the room, Herah watching her as she left, privately wondering if she had made the right decision.

 

* * *

 

The world around her was a shifting, turning, spinning grey mess. But it really wasn’t her world, was it? Oh no, according to that spirit-thing, Cole, they were in her **_head_**. Which wasn’t strange at all, right? _Riiight_ …

A fucking Envy demon. Really?! Did it really have to be a demon? Of all the confounded things that could be attacking her, why did it have to be a soul-sucking demon that wanted kill her?! And oh no, that wasn’t enough. This demon actually wanted to BECOME her. Wonderful.

Herah moved past the various scenes of death and dismemberment, only half listening to Cole as he chattered next to her, saying things that only half made sense, hearing him telling the Demon off, which made her smile. At least she wasn’t alone in this, the spirit thing’s presence a comfort of sorts.

“So why me?” she asked Cole as they made their way through the not Castle, Herah glancing down at the boy. He was a skinny thing, all blond hair and pale skin, Herah finding it hard to believe that this… thing… really was just a spirit. He looked… so… human.

“Envy craves that which he lacks. Power.” Cole responded. “He’s broken. Chained to the fate of what he is, and what he assumed to become. He thought he had found power when he assumed the Lord Seeker… but you changed that when you stood up to him in Val Royeaux.”

Herah grimaced. “Did I now? Huh. Well, Bull _did_ say my mouth would get me into trouble.” she muttered.

“You have a magical talking bovine?” Cole asked in wonder.

Herah chuckled, suddenly picturing a talking grey bull with an eye patch. “No, not really. He’s… um…  a friend of mine. He came with me to Therinfal. His name is the Iron Bull, but I call him Bull for short. Maybe you can meet him later.”

“I’d like that!” Cole said cheerfully.

They continued on their way through the not Castle, Herah turning a corner, coming to a long, dark hallway, freezing at what she saw. It was her friends… all of her allies… they were lined up against the wall… all of them hanging from stocks… all of them dead… or dying…

Envy cackled in her head, his laughter sending shivers running down her spine. “Haha! Look upon your allies, Herald. See what becomes of them when I take your place!”

Herah said nothing, her amber eyes on the first body, her eyes running over the features. It was Cassandra, her long body crumpled and torn, her head hanging forward, her face set into a mask of agony and pain. To see the mighty Seeker in such a state… it was enough to make her shiver, Herah suddenly wanting to turn around and run away… but to where? **_They were in her head!_**

“Keep going.” Cole said from her side, his voice an angry whisper. “You know it isn’t real. She’s alive, waiting for you. He just wants to hurt you. To make you stumble and doubt. I can help!”

Herah grit her teeth and kept going. One after the other, Herah walked passed her friend’s corpses, each of them in some depressing state. Viviane looked like she’d been electrocuted with lightnight, her body pale, the ends of her fingers charred, her eyes vacant. Varric had been handing from a noose, his neck at an odd angle. Blackwall had been burned to an ashy charred corpse. Sera had shot with arrows, the arrows nailing her to the wall. Solas had been dismembered, his head seated atop a pile of his organs and limbs. But none of it compared to Bull.

Herah walked upon his body… and shivered. “Bull…” Hera moaned, stumbling, almost falling to her knees. He lay there, his long and powerful frame laid out of the ground. His arms and legs were in strange, unnatural angles. His head was detached, and was sitting atop a spike. And his chest looked like someone had punched through it and ripped his heart out.

“Yesssss… look at him Herald. Remind you of anyone? Your brother, perhaps?” Envy purred. “Look upon your handiwork, Herald. Soon the Qunari will die… by YOUR hand!”

Herah felt her lips curl into a silent snarl, and Cole stepped forward, his blue eyes blazing as he glared at the dark, grey sky. “You lie. We both know that the future is not yet written, but the path she walks goes in a different direction. Their fates are intertwined!”

Herah blinked, turning to stare down at Cole. “Wait, what?” she asked with wide amber eyes. **_Fates intertwined?!_** What the hell did that mean?!

Cole shrugged. “You care about the Iron Bull. You won’t rip his heart out. He wants to help you. He likes you.” The spirit demon boy thing said matter-of-factly.

Herah stared. Then she turned and looked up at the sky, knowing that the demon Envy was ‘watching’ her every move. “You heard him.” she snarled at the sky. “I’m not stabbing Iron Bull in the heart because we like each other. So there!” she snapped, giving the sky the finger before falling silent, Herah plowing her way forward, the impact of her words not lost on her.

_**Our fates are intertwined...** He wants to help you... He likes you... **You care about the Iron Bull...**  
_

Maker give her strength. She cared about the Iron Bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tama:** short for Tamassran; "Those who speak." A priestess who is charged with educating the young, interviewing captives, and assigning Qunari their roles within society. Exclusively a role for women.
> 
>  **armaas-shok:** loosely translated from ancient Qunlat as "soul war." A neurological state similar to 'battle frenzy' or 'blood rage,' that affects all Qunari, causing them to go into a sort of 'fight or flight' state. It plays in two ways. The first aspect is a positive feedback loop in which adrenaline, also activated by fear or rage, suppresses serotonin, the brain chemical that induces serenity. The second is the over-developed Qunari limbic system. In Qunari fear or rage shifts mental control from the frontal lobes, responsible for reasoning, to the limbic system, responsible for aggression and survival. During that shift, Qunari exhibit diminished capacity for logic and self-control, and thus "see Red."


End file.
